Page 460 - sons-and-lovers

‘You ARE nice!’ he said.
‘Well,’ she answered, ‘we thought you looked overcast,
and they dared me offer you a chocolate.’
‘I don’t mind if I have another—another sort,’ he said.
And presently they were all laughing together.
It was nine o’clock when he got home, falling dark. He
entered the house in silence. His mother, who had been
waiting, rose anxiously.
‘I told her,’ he said.
‘I’m glad,’ replied the mother, with great relief.
He hung up his cap wearily.
‘I said we’d have done altogether,’ he said.
‘That’s right, my son,’ said the mother. ‘It’s hard for her
now, but best in the long run. I know. You weren’t suited
for her.’
He laughed shakily as he sat down.
‘I’ve had such a lark with some girls in a pub,’ he said.
His mother looked at him. He had forgotten Miriam
now. He told her about the girls in the Willow Tree. Mrs.
Morel looked at him. It seemed unreal, his gaiety. At the
back of it was too much horror and misery.
‘Now have some supper,’ she said very gently.
Afterwards he said wistfully:
‘She never thought she’d have me, mother, not from the
first, and so she’s not disappointed.’
‘I’m afraid,’ said his mother, ‘she doesn’t give up hopes
of you yet.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘perhaps not.’
‘You’ll find it’s better to have done,’ she said.